


Unusual Events

by euphoriaontoast



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21674632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphoriaontoast/pseuds/euphoriaontoast
Summary: All the scenes lost between the cushions of the couch. A personal collection.
Relationships: Asra/Julian Devorak
Kudos: 23





	1. Love in the time of the Red Plague

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Julian/Asra

There might have been a time when none of this would have mattered, when a heart at ease and a confident mind would have prevented some extreme procedures and many an act of bravado from taking place. But the plague changed a lot of things in Vesuvia, took many lives and put just as many on the brink of extinction, especially that of one particular plague doctor.

Every step he took through the city had him losing his wits beneath his mask as more and more bodies piled up on the side of the street. All those people who'd given up their last bouts of energy for the need to believe that they had somewhere to go last minute; an errand to run, someone to say goodbye to—Julian couldn't think about that.

He had to remind himself to stay objective, to remember why he risked going outside, how important it was that he found the magician, apologized and brought him back to the palace where they could right their wrongs together, wrong whoever was to wrong and finally save the city, or at least the remainder of it.

He knocked at the door of the shop repeatedly without hearing so much as a footstep on the other side of it. He sighed. ‘You'd better not have run away, Asra,’ he thought as he picked the lock and let himself into the mgaician's house, hoping for his sake that he wasn't too late.

He found Asra hunched over his desk, his fluff of white hair peaking from underneath piles and piles of magic books threatening to engulf him whole. Julian took off his mask to scowl at him.

“Well, if you won't even bother opening the door for me you might as well, hand me a key,” he said, breathless after mounting the stairs to his room. “I feel bad having to break in every time I need to see you.”

Asra paid him no mind, sighing steadily as his head rested in the crook of his arm. The doctor frowned.

“You don't have to welcome me, I would have passed on the blooming tea anyway, but- Could you at least acknowledge me for-” He strode over to the young man, patting his shoulder only for his whole body to give in, falling to a helpless heap on the floor had Julian not caught him in time.

“Oh dear, oh dear...” The panic in the doctor's voice rose as Asra opened two sad purple eyes, his sclerae injected with blood as he blinked at him without recognition.

For a moment Julian held him in his arms, head down, defeated. He willed the tremor in his lips to stop as he tried for the life of him to think of something.

“You stole my book...” Asra croaked. Julian didn't dare look at him, knowing the blush on his face would give him away.

“Me? Steal from you? Unthinkable. I would never.”

“You can tell the truth now, Ilya. I'm dying.”

Julian took a shaky breath. He could feel the sanity escaping him as Asra smiled weakly. 

He wanted to believe he could keep the boy alive, but the words of comfort he was trained to give his patients remained stuck in his throat. The thought of Asra lying lifeless, if he were to never see him smile again, see his foreign features driven to exasperation at his own unbearable antics- Julian couldn't suffer through it.

Asra's hand rose to undo the top button of his vest, revealing the milk white skin of the doctor's neck, turning his face a deep shade of crimson.

“I believe now is hardly the time for-”

“Just as I thought,” Asra cut him off. He was looking at something on his throat, which Julian couldn't see himself. “You made a deal, didn't you?”

“I think I did,” he answered tentatively.

“Oh, Ilya... What did you give up?”

“I don't know yet.”

“You made a blind deal? Julian, how insane are you?” He was trying to raise his voice at the older man, but the absence of strength left a hollowness to his reproach.

“Completely insane,” Julian said, not missing a beat. “Utterly, undeniably crazy, Asra. I don't even know how to use magic!”

“You gave up a part of yourself you don't know for a gift you can't use? Why, Ilya?”

Tears filled the doctor's eyes and fell onto Asra's cheeks. He wiped them away swiftly, apologizing. The magician's gaze was swimming in and out of focus, leaving Julian lonelier every time he threatened to lose consciousness. 

Maybe that was why the truth came out of him so easily when he wouldn't have admitted to it before; he didn't have one excuse left to keep admissions for later; there might just never be any moment later than now.

“I didn't care for leaving a part of me behind if it meant I had half a chance to save you,” he said. “I believed that knowing you were safe could make up for anything that I lacked. That was my side of the deal.” Julian looked into the purple eyes that had mesmerized him so much with their long white lashes the first time he looked into them. “I didn't care for the other.”

A tear rolled down Asra's temple into the shell of his ear. Julian wondered as he watched it whether he'd just realized how dangerously far from life he was edging.

“Ilya...” Asra tried to mouth his name, not quite able to pronounce it anymore. 

It sounded like a plea, and put Ilya in such a state that his own voice wavered on the brink of reason as he cried out to him. “So tell me what to do!” 

He shook him as gently as his patience allowed, but Asra had already closed his eyes and the horror dawned onto Julian that it might have been the last time he ever saw them.

“Tell me what to do...” Julian sobbed into the crook of Asra's neck where the pulse was weakening. 

He remembered the last time he'd said those words to him. 

‘You'd like that, wouldn't you?’ Asra had smirked down at him back then, when he told him that he would have done anything, anything at all, whatever he needed...

‘Would you have anything to give, without giving yourself away, Doctor...’ The Hanged Man had said, his blackbird head tilted to the side as a clawed finger touched his throat. ‘You cannot save a magician who doesn't have anything to give you.’ He paused. ‘Or doesn't believe he does...’

The silence that followed had the look on the bird's face speaking volumes. Julian didn't find it amusing then, and didn't now either. It was as if the Arcana had found the only weakness in the doctor, and willed him to bring it to the surface where it could hurt him.

Julian felt his heart tense up in his chest, reluctant, crooked, afraid. Maybe that was all he had to offer. Was he offering it? 

He sighed.

“Here it goes, Asra,” he whispered in the magician's ear, breath shaking with every inhale. “I love you.”

When he pulled away to look at his golden face, stroking the softness of his hair, he didn't expect their eyes to lock, much less for Asra's hand to reach behind his neck and pull him close enough to feel his breath, then close enough to taste it, then the distance was no more and when Julian closed his eyes he could have sworn he saw magic. It felt like kissing a mouthful of happiness, soft and pure and undeniable.

He felt the skin of his throat burning like fire, but he didn't stop, only held Asra closer. And when he pulled back from him, slowly so as not to break the spell too soon, he saw with what felt like infinite relief that his eyes were glowing with life and health and something else; something that made his heart soar.

“It worked!” Julian laughed, unbelieving, the younger man's smiling face held in his hand. He hugged him close to his chest, shaking with gratitude. “How great, Asra! I'm so glad it worked!”

“I can't believe it,” Asra whispered back at him with newfound energy. He was blushing from ear to ear. 

He sat up and for a moment both men looked at each other, then they were kissing again, laughing and whispering in each other's mouth.

“You surprise me,” Asra said.

“Frankly, so do I,” Julian said and for a second the ghost of his fear was visible in his gray eyes. The magician stroked his hair to get rid of it. 

“What now?” he asked. “Are you going to kiss all of Vesuvia back to health?” 

“That would be quite generous of me, wouldn't it?” He winked, winning himself a vigorous hit in the shoulder from Asra. “I may have read about another solution in your book, but...”

“Does it involve...” Asra trailed.

“Killing the Count? Absolutely.”

“Well, then, we should get to it.”

“Should we?"

“It's the least we could do. We were entrusted to cure the plague, after all...” Asra raised his brows at him, complicity dancing between their gazes until the doctor smirked right back.

“I won't tell if you don't.”

They shook hands on it, and when Asra entwined their fingers together, even if the doctor had known that he gave up half his life for it, he wouldn't have changed a thing.


	2. Call me Pasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Portia x Lucio

Lucio hated that five foot one red-headed hazard.

Of all things, she had to be the head servant. Not that she did a bad job; she was all over the palace.

That was the problem, according to Lucio; she had eyes everywhere. In the hallways, in the rooms, in places he didn't know about, and even in his quarters. He was sure of it, he could swear it. Everywhere.

So even when he was alone, he was only ever almost sure he was alone. 

It might have been why he took his time undressing at the end of the day, making sure to run his claws over every golden button so it resounded like the ticking of a clock before he discarded the garment, and as it fell aside wondered if the gaze he felt on his naked skin came from the painting on the wall, or the shelf, or behind the mirror, in which he could see his flustered face, his cheeks obscenely red as he asked himself if it wasn't a laugh he just heard, audaciously raucous and feminine, or if he might have just imagined it, which left him even more concerned as to why he would go to the trouble of imagining it, why he secretly wanted to hear it even though he would have torn the life out of anyone who had dared mock his excellence. 

Every night he fell asleep to the feeling of the warm presence of the ghost haunting his quarters, and for those few fleeting moments before consciousness left him, he felt the ghost of his arrogance drift away with it, leaving him to fall asleep in the softness of silk sheets and kindness, his malevolent deeds almost forgotten.

He kept that feeling a secret. He wasn't exactly used to it, not that Nadia would care, or anyone for that matter. But he did. And it was enough the confuse him. 

When he happened to see her in the palace halls, when he was sure that she only pretended to ignore him, that as soon as his back was turned she would already be smirking, blue eyes gleaming with mischief, he found some orders to bark; petty revenge. Have you tended to my chambers, recently? I tend to Milady's. Well you tend to mine, now. And since we're at it...

He said it, and was sure his eyes were bulging and that he looked as angry as he wished to look, maybe more than angry judging by the look of bewilderment on the rounded face, and though his heart was also beating out of his chest. Since we're at it... 

“Help me do my make-up.”

That must have been far from anything she must have expected, if not worse, because for a moment the maiden's face was red, her mouth pursed to contain her embarrassment, which Lucio tried to glare at, so as not to mirror it.

As she walked into his room she didn't marvel at anything. Not the enormous bed, not the tapestries on the wall, or the extensive closet. That was when Lucio's suspicions proved to be true, though he couldn't prove it; her eyes had been in this room before. 

He almost wanted to hope that it was for the same reason that she didn't take a second glance at his bare face.

That or she was really unimpressed, which he still found a reason to admire.

He was blushing, he knew, and though she didn't seem to notice it, he knew she knew he was. And there was no hiding it.

The years and the battles had carved lines and a hollowness to his traits, more than he cared to admit, naturally, but less than he could manage to hide. 

And when the servant turned to him with a brush and smiled, the smoke of pride that shrouded his personality dispersed as well, and he couldn't for a moment, for the life of him, find a single thing to point out or complain about.

The small woman didn't wear perfume, but smelled like something he dearly missed, something of childhood, or a life he didn't get to live, and he took in as much of the scent as he could, as long as he she was this close to him and he was as close to her as he could afford to be.

She was talented with make-up, but he didn't care. It was cute, the way she focused on her task, on him, the tip of her tongue poking through her lips as she did his eyeliner, plump hand flat on his cheek, all over the place, all over his space, and close enough that Lucio could count the freckles on her nose, on her neck, on her pretty naked shoulders. 

She exhaled on his face. Her lips were the perfect shape, a red rose button, royal, if only he could...

And as if reading his thoughts, the servant met the Count's eyes just as she swept his bottom lip with a coat of lip balm, and she must have seen something there, because his instincts screamed at him at once and he flinched away from the touch.

“That's quite enough, you!”

She seemed offended by his frown for a second, before confidence returned, fierce and unapologetic. And without breaking eye contact, she dabbed the remainder of red balm on her lips, then turned to face the mirror where, where the shock on his own face baffled him more than he thought it would.

‘Who do you think you are?’ is what he had intended to say, which had come out in a softer wondrous, “Who are you?”

“Call me Pasha,” she said.

Much to his own surprise, he did as he was told. 

“Pasha...” he repeated. And he liked it. He liked it a lot.

Only when he went to grab at whatever it was it meant, the strong freckled hand grabbed at his wrist, the one made of flesh and blood, which wasn't his strong arm, but the one that reached out instead of the other so as not to hurt her. And her gaze then; soft, knowing, harsh and so, so blue, he wouldn't have known what to do about it. But he had a feeling she knew.

A feeling that it was okay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AsraxMuriel

There were fireworks.  
When Asra averted his eyes from the sky, when his breath hitched in his throat, when he caught Muriel staring at him and his heart suddenly stopped, and everything else stopped, and he felt the explosion of emotions inside his chest. 

All of it. 

Just fireworks. 

Nothing new under the sky.

They were lively and always crawled right beneath Asra's skin, made his palms sweaty, his cheeks red and every time he opened his mouth to speak, he was careful not to let any of them slip out.

Soft spoken letters, sweet whispers like sparkles mingling with magic; warmth that brought and took away fear like the tide, and made him neither brave nor a coward.

It was enough. Sufficient.

But to the magician it wasn't enough if it was all it was going to be.

He often looked longingly at Muriel, trying to make himself believe that if he looked at him long enough then the man would hand himself over; no arguments, no excuses, and no holds barred.

Though even his fantasies refused to partake in the dangerous pretension that Muriel would like that, that he would not even be offended, not even be surprised.

Muriel who was vast and kind as the green meadows he came from, which he described to Asra as if they were heaven, which is why they reminded Asra of him.

He was lost in them, in the infinite green that stretched out beyond the man's gaze. And he wasn't scared. He found ways and words to take him even further, far enough that maybe someday, he wished, he wouldn't have to come back.

“Your magic is so bright tonight, Muriel. You should see your reflection in the water; the light on your face...” He cut himself mid-sentence for emphasis, rolling his eyes back in delight. “It's only gorgeous.”

Then he watched as the shy boy tried to recover from every word, until his lips stretched into the world's smallest smile, and his eyes filled with silent happiness. 

Asra encouraged him with his own, almost urging words out of him, as if he knew they'd be beautiful.

“Not...as much as yours. Your light, it shines all the time.” Muriel averted his eyes, trying to appear jealous so as not to appear anything else. But there must have been something about the look Asra gave him, because then he was really blushing. “What?”

“You're the one who makes it so strong.” He shrugged. It was out there, and he hadn't even stuttered. “You fill me with energy. When I'm with you, I could do anything.”

There was a silence, and Muriel looked sad.

“Then why haven't you already?” he mumbled.

If Muriel had known how bold his words really were, he would have turned a thousand shades of color. But he pretended not to be affected, though Asra could see it, his magic lighting up the forest like he was the only star in the night, so bright he had to close his eyes. 

But Asra didn't. He wanted to see all of it, and edged closer to him, leaning in just a little.

“Could you repeat that?” he whispered. “I didn't quite hear it.”

“It wasn't important-”

“Muriel-”

“I said, why haven't you done anything already?”

They held each other's gaze. And it was Asra, this time, who was found speechless and blushing.

“All you had to do was ask...” 

Muriel winced at the words.

“If I have to ask, then I don't deserve it.”

Asra brought his hand to Muriel's cheek, almost the same skin tone, not quite. Muriel didn't flinch, didn't turn away, and had it been a fantasy, Asra thought, it wouldn't have felt half as nice.

“Ask away,” Asra said. “Seek the answer for yourself if you're not afraid to hear it.”

Muriel swallowed, closed his eyes, couldn't speak.

“It's a bother having to ask, isn't it?” Asra continued. “I would do anything, but not unless you do. I understand all your silences, could put names on thin air and wallow in endless meanings and possible feelings spoken inside that only I thought I heard. But I want the worlds that lie beyond words. Your words. Whatever comes after, I will take it. I will keep it. Just ask, Muriel, I will not say no.”

“Have you always been such a sweet talker?” Asra breathed out a laugh, but prevented his smile from breaking the moment. His moment. His now or never. “Asra?”

“Yes, Muriel?” God, he was shaking...

“Until our bodies wither, and the flood of time reduces us to ashes...” 

“Yes.” 

Muriel's lip quivered when Asra brushed his thumb over it, his other hand on the back of his neck.

“If there's laughter... If there are tears...” He looked at him. “If we're apart.”

Asra shook his head. The tears filled his eyes, he had no idea it would be this hard. Muriel held him.

“And if you had to only follow your heart.” He cast his gaze down but Asra titled his chin up, so they'd look at each other. Vulnerability all that was left of their courage, somehow it was very much the same thing. If you only had to follow your heart... “Would you love me?”

The words failed to come out clearly, Asra's throat was so tight with emotion. But he mouthed it right. ‘Yes’ was written all over his lips, and all that was left for Muriel to do was claim it with his own.

Fireworks, again. But a whole different kind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NadiaxLucio

Nadia was a sensible woman.

The type to stir only half of a sugar cube in her tea and make sure her spoon didn't hit the china, vapor swirling in jasmin scented caresses before her nose as she watched her enemies choke on their poison.

She wasn't for petty revenge, for foul words that left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. Just a clean finish line of sorts, elegant, and sweet as the second half of the sugar cube.

It was always quite simple. So as Nadia walked into her husband's quarters with her sewing golden stork scissors in her hand, she couldn't fathom why this had to be different, but she knew Lucio was going to pay double for it.

It didn't take as long as she thought it would to turn the room upside down; clothes gone out the window in pieces, curtains trimmed to a disaster, makeup and vanity thrown across the floor until everything around Nadia looked exactly the same as she felt inside. 

And had Lucio only dared pass a finger through the doorframe, she would have cut him up too, carved his face and painted him red with no more than a tiny pair of scissors.

She knew she would have. And the sight of the collection of expensive perfume she had carefully chosen for each of their anniversaries spilled on the floor didn't break her heart as much.

Because as much as she wanted to rip him apart, the erratic beat of her heart reminded her of the night she wore white, when all of Vesuvia watched them dance and she thought she would faint at every twirl, though she couldn't stop smiling, because Lucio had been nervous and kept his white eyes firmly locked on her red ones, lest he looked at his feet and she had to tilt his chin back up.

Lucio hadn't missed a step back then, not even when he brought her into him and kissed her out of the blue, so sweet and innocent it stole a smile from every sencorious member of the court.

Was it her lover or a coward she'd married? Wasn't she all he ever really had, as he'd confessed one night when he thought she was asleep? Didn't he know what it meant when he promised she'd never be belittled again, when he said she was the grandest woman to ever grace this wretched land, because even her footsteps rang different, because he knew how it felt, because he was there for her now and they could act like count and countess if he remained her mercenary and she remained his princess? 

The world was swirling to the rhythm of a nightmarish waltz. And when Nadia turned around Lucio was standing before her.

He was looking around with silent disappointment, the way one would look at their home after the passage of a hurricane. He was searching the debris. Not that Lucio knew the value of material things, but he knew that somewhere in the mess, something inestimable was lost to him, though it might have been one of the rare things he'd wanted to keep. 

“Seems you're having fun.”

Nadia wasn't. “Are you surprised?”

He raised his brows. Perhaps because he hadn't expected the question, perhaps because he hadn't expected his answer not to. 

He fled her gaze, looked down and saw the broken vials, a pained grimace twisting his features, as if he wished he hadn't seen seen them, as if he was only starting to understand what all of this was about, or had just stopped pretending not to.

He pointed at them. “This isn't fair.” 

“It isn't, is it?”

“I was collecting those! I kept all six of them, I could have had fifty someday!” 

Right then, something broke inside Nadia, and out of it poured an immeasurable amount of guilt and she realized, quite horrified, that it might have been more than just perfume vials she broke. But then again this was more than just couple banter, even though subconsciously she was already planning the apology gift, the shape of each bottle, the appropriate scents...

She snapped out of it.

“I once told you that I'd go through hell for you,” she said, “and you just proceeded to take me there. I expected better of this marriage.” Lucio raised his gaze to meet hers, not surprised, only defeated. “I might have been young but you had no right to fool me.”

“You have everything you could possibly want-”

“I haven't seen your face in months, Lucio. Where are you?” she asked him.

“I'm here...” Why would you want to see me?

She shook her head. “Where are you?” she repeated. “I want to see you.”

She said it like it had a different meaning than its own. Her eyes filled with tears, pinning him right into place and Lucio's heart shattered. For the most painful second he was speechless, lacking every argument to believe he was actually there. He frowned, his eyes close to overflowing.

“I'm here,” he repeated, just before he broke into sobs. 

He didn't hide it. His arm remained limp at his side, even as Nadia pounded her fists against his chest, ‘how dare you’, over and over, angry screams echoing in the endless void where Lucio's ego should have been, now shredded to ruins, shattered around him and running down his face with tears and mascara. 

It hurt even more that he knew how easily she could disperse the illusion, remind him of the hurt he came from, of the life he had hated so much and thought he'd buried once and for all with his tears in the crook of her neck.

“I tried to change, I'm so sorry.” His frown was so deep the muscles ached on his face. 

Nadia looked torn in two.

“Don't lie to me.”

“I don't know who I am,” he said, and he looked so terrified Nadia knew it was the truth. “I don't know who I am.”

“But I know who you are!” 

He shook his head vehemently, struggling out of her grip, though unable as he ever was to resist her fingertips as they tilted his chin to look at her. 

“Of all people, you're the most disheartening, selfish, clueless man walking this land, and yet the first time I laid eyes on you I wished any other man could resemble me more than you did.”

“We aren't anything alike.”

“We aren't.” 

She laughed, sweet nervous giggles in the chaos that rang like the bells of heaven in Lucio's ears as he struggled to cover up the confusion he was being called out for. 

“You had so much of what I thought only I felt in your eyes that not a soul in this universe would have convinced me I was wrong to marry you.” Nadia thought of the High Priestess and shook her head, a tear running down her cheek. “It was a miracle you looked my way. There was no going back from there, but I was more than okay with it. I wouldn't have known it was too good to be true.”

She sighed. 

There was a silence during which everything that ever was assembled seemed not only to fall away, but to disappear entirely. Lucio looked at a torn up bedsheet on the floor. It had a piece of purple hair, mistakenly chopped with the fabric in blind anger. He wondered if it was a bad time to pick it up.

“I spent so much of my life hiding what I felt,” he said, “I couldn't believe you saw right through me that day. We hadn't spoken a word together, yet even I didn't know myself so well. I was a lie my entire life. It meant everything to me.” 

“I didn't know what to say,” she said.

“I had yet to learn to speak.”

Their eyes met, and for the briefest second, they were as close and as far as they'd ever been from each other.

“You deserved better.”

She brushed one hand across his face, clearing the smeared makeup from his hollow cheeks. Old battered man. Her heart swelled with tenderness for him, flawed as he was. He had the look on his face that he gave her somtimes when he thought she wasn't paying attention. 

He didn't even know.

And maybe she did deserve better. She would have believed it, had it been any other man. Perhaps she was meant to live in a vicious cycle; her own personal paradox, because whenever Lucio said he didn't deserve her, everyone else became less worthy. 

Lucio would never know that the second Nadia saw him, even before she saw him, and every time after, a breath was stolen from her lungs and committed to him forever and after, that fateful day when he'd smiled, more to himself than to seduce her, though seduce her he did.

“You may not be a good man,” she said. “I never lured myself into thinking an angel could look anything like you. Bad men have made history and none of them was only bad if he really was. Most pay for their mistakes and so will you. But you and I are the same if complete opposites, and if there is any good in me it is in you, too. Pretend it isn't if you've no fear of me. Do what you will, Lucio, but God so help me, this world will burn to ashes before I come to think otherwise.”

In the red of Nadia's eyes, all the lights that ever burned flickered like flames in the wind, carrying the hope of a thousand dreams just before they caught on fire. 

In the middle of it, Lucio saw his demise, and he smiled.


End file.
